


A King's Duty

by BlueRaven (Blue_Night)



Series: The King and his Minstrel [3]
Category: 12th Century CE RPF, Historical RPF, Original Work, Richard the Lionheart - Fandom
Genre: Alliances, Developing Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Love/Hate, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, loosely related to The Lion in Winter (1968), past complicated and poisonous relationship, royal and diplomatic duties
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-05-17 07:34:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14828099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Night/pseuds/BlueRaven
Summary: In July 1189, Richard the Lionheart of England visits Philip II of France in Chaumont-en-Vexin to revere him and renew his oath of allegiance towards the King of France. They had once been friends and lovers, but Philip's false games and betrayal have turned love and desire into hate. Philip knowing Richard and his deepest desires better than Richard knows himself has one more ace up his sleeve to lure the English king back into his arms and his bed - the young and beautiful minstrel Blondel. Will Richard really fall for the young man and let Philip manipulate him, or will he resist the temptation and stay away from Blondel?





	1. The Necessity of Diplomacy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Arrested](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arrested/gifts).



> My dear Arrested,
> 
> I am so terrible at writing oneshots as it would seem - this has turned out to be a WIP again... I know that I owe you finishing 'OYWTK', but I can't promise you that at the moment, even though my first Richard story will be finished one day. I hope another Richard/Blondel-story will make up for 'OYWTK' being on hiatus for so long a bit. I wanted it to be different from the others and let Richard meet Blondel under different circumstances, and I wanted to include a bit of Wilfred of Ivanhoe for you, even though he won't appear often. I don't know if you know the great movie 'The Lion in Winter' with Katherine Hepburn, I'm using Richard's brief affair with Philip that is mentioned there and their complicated relationship and alliances for this story. You don't need to know the film to understand this fic as it is only loosely based on it.  
> I hope you will enjoy this story, my dear, it is another small and humble thank you for allowing me to dive into your world and share your unique and wonderful stories with us! <33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard arrives in Castle Chaumont where Philip awaits him in the courtyard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll do my best to update as soon as possible, but I'm away for a week and I don't know how much time I'll have for writing, as there are several stories begging for my attention, but I really missed Richard and Blondel, so it shouldn't take too long.

Following Philip's invitation had been a foolish thing to do.

Richard had of course known that before, but the thought came back into his mind the minute he set foot on the sandy ground of the courtyard of Castle Chaumont when he dismounted his steed and handed the reins of his white Arab over to his faithful companion Wilfred of Ivanhoe. It had also been a necessity, something diplomacy and circumstances demanded from him – no matter whether he liked it or not. Philip of France was in the better position at the moment, and Richard had learned his lessons the hard and painful way when he'd been younger, acting much more careful than he had done so in his wild youth. He'd learned to play the game of diplomacy and tactics a long time ago, and he had reached true mastery in it – just like his younger French companion.

Richard had to play along if he wanted to get from Philip what he needed, and trying to avoid the inevitable for longer than necessary would only lead to more trouble, so he had accepted Philip's invitation – which had actually been more an order than an invitation – but Philip was a true master himself when it came to wrapping his orders in kind and sweet words that made them look like offers and invitations Richard could deny – if was foolish enough to do so. Accepting Philip's wish to meet him in Castle Chaumont and get another proof of Richard's loyalty as his liege had been the wiser thing to do in this case.

The young King of France at least did him the courtesy of awaiting him in the courtyard, flanked by several guards and dressed in heavy velvet. Richard wondered briefly how the younger king managed not to melt under the thick robe, and he noticed the trickles of sweat on Philip's smooth forehead with something akin to grim satisfaction. He was acutely aware of the intense royal gaze observing him as he strode forward to pay his respects to the King of France, Philip's eyes noticing every stain and grain of dust on his travel clothes. There must be many after the long ride, enough to make Philip's lips curl into a tiny scornful smile for the blink of an eye.

But Richard wouldn't be Richard called the Lionheart if he let the younger man's attempts to throw him off with his mocking smile get through to him, and he followed the small droplet rolling down on Philip's right temple with his own sharp eyes pointedly, his mere presence and size serving to make Philip's guards step aside when Richard reached them. He stood and waited, staring down at the smaller one, two powerful sovereigns measuring each other for a moment, neither of them willing to step back and lose their ground.

The moment stretched, another trickle of salty wetness darkening Philip's curls where it found its way under the small crown Philip wore on such occasions to smother any possible doubt about him perhaps not being the rightful King of France. Richard followed it with a meaningful glance of his own as it left a glistening trace on Philip's cheek with the small well kempt beard, and where it finally disappeared in between the whiskers. Richard took his time to search for it for a few more seconds before slowly raising his calm gaze back to Philip's eyes, waiting for the French monarch to address him without any sign of impatience or discomfort displaying on his male aristocratic features.

Richard knew his duties quite well, better than some people gave him credit for, but wearing his crown every single minute of his waking hours – even when he used the privy – like Philip did was a thought that had never occurred to him. His natural aura of authority served much better to teach all those minions surrounding him their places than any crown could ever do, and traveling dressed in thick royal velvet when the sun was burning down on him was out of the question if he wanted to reach his destiny without risking a heat stroke. Richard endured Philip's mocking and deprecating observation with a stoic expression, hiding a grim smile when the younger king shifted his weight from one foot to the other under his own scrutiny, the small victory making up for the exhausting journey and the unbearable summer heat at least a little bit.

“Welcome in Castle Chaumont, my dearest Richard, what a pleasure to see you so well!” Philip lied without blushing as he finally reached out with his right hand to offer it to the older monarch for the kiss Richard owed him as his liege, a false smile plastered all over his admittedly handsome features.

“Thank you, sire. You look well too, my dear Philip, the heat doesn't seem to bother you as much as it bothers most of us. But you've always been a child of the summer much more than a child of the winter as I remember, haven't you? Your delicate health has never taken the cold very well. You must be looking forward to our crusade in the Holy Land, then, you don't have to fear the cold there,” Richard replied, pulling a strangled sound from the other king at the reminder of their duties to save the Holy Land from the invaders.

He knew that Philip wasn't eager to fulfill his duty and win back the Holy Land in a bloody war that would cost a lot of good lives and keep him away from his beloved France; and teasing him with that without Philip being able to pay him back if he didn't want to lose his face was Richard's answer to Philip forcing him to acknowledge him as his suzerain in front of his court. Richard hated what he had to do so much that his vision blurred for a moment when he finally bent his head in the smallest bow he could offer without being rude and offending.

Philip didn't wear gloves, his only concession to the unbearable midsummer heat, and his fingers were hot and damp when Richard took them to blow over the back of the royal right. A sudden wave of loathing hit Richard without warning, and the English monarch resisted the urge to drop the hand instantly again only with effort, as nothing good would come out of it if he offended his suzerain in his own castle and in front of his lords right after his arrival.

Richard was experienced and diplomat enough to know not only his duties, but also when he had to bend his head before the other king having the hit on his hand at the moment. His time to change that would hopefully come soon again, but for now it was better to play along and give the younger king what Philip craved for. Richard swallowed down the bitter bile rising in his throat and touched Philip's sweaty skin with his lips for a second, fighting against another wave of disgust when he felt Philip shiver against his mouth and the barely audible moan the younger king let out at the touch made its way to his ears.

There had been a time when he had desired the Frenchman with every fiber of his being, willing to do everything Philip demanded just to get a smile from the younger prince in return, but these times were long gone, Philip's false games and his willingness to betray Richard whenever it served him well having killed even the last spark of desire and fondness Richard might still have felt for him.

It was apparent that Philip's desire for him had not died out over the long years they were fighting against each other though, and Richard realized with dismay that the French king expected more from him than only a brief kiss on his hand, probably one of the reasons why he'd invited Richard to come to Castle Chaumont – where they would have more privacy than in Paris.

Philip was most likely congratulating himself for his clever move judging by the look he gave Richard when the taller king drew back from his hand and stared down at him with slightly narrowed eyes, his smile wolfish now. Richard smiled back like it was appropriate for a liege honoring their suzerain, but his hard gaze held a clear warning for Philip not to be too confident and sure of himself that he would get more than only Richard's renewed oath as his liege.

They measured each other once more, and it was Philip who couldn't stand the heavy silence between them again, not with the confused looks of his lords on his back and his face. “A child of the summer – you're charming me, my dear Richard. But you're right with that – opposite to you. You've always been able to see the questionable appeal of winter, haven't you? Now let us get you out of the heat and comfortable in my beautiful castle before my French sun has melted you. Do you even know sun in England? I was told that it dares crossing the sea to kiss your small island only rare times.”

Philip beamed at him, taking Richard's elbow to guide him to the large front gate leading into the palas, and the English sovereign allowed Philip's sweaty fingers to rest on the white linen covering his forearm without showing his disgust for the other man, tilting his head as he walked beside the smaller king to gaze down at him.

“The English sun is kind and soft, spending warmth and life instead of burning the creatures living under her beautiful golden glow. You will surely find my English sun much to your liking if you dare to cross the sea and visit my green island one day, my dear Philip,” Richard gave back with a generous smile as they entered the palas, knowing that he had won the first contest when he saw Philip gritting his teeth.

But there were many more contests to follow, and only time would tell who of them would be the winner in the end. It was a dangerous game to play, but Richard had never backed away from a challenge, his second name Lionheart being well-earned, and his pride didn't allow him to let his former lover and ally win.

There was more at stake than only his pride, and Richard had always been a bad loser, wanting to win at all cost. Teaching Philip his place would be even more satisfying than taking him in his bed had been, and Richard was starting to look forward to the following days and showing Philip that he was still the cleverer and more powerful one of the two of them.

 

***

 

Philip clearly wanted to impress Richard with his skills as his English friend's royal host, he had spared no expense and effort to make Richard's stay in Castle Chaumont a pleasant experience.

The feast the French king had arranged on Richard's first evening in the castle that was sitting enthroned over the small village Chaumont-en-Vexin left nothing to be desired, and the tall English monarch wondered where all the food came from – considering that the heat and dryness of the last weeks must have drained the people living in this region of Philip's kingdom of most of their supplies.

Philip had seated him at his right side – at least that – Richard had really thought that the younger king would insult him by not doing that, but when an hour or so had passed, he truly wished that Philip had opted for the offense rather than seating them so close to each other. He'd stopped counting the times he had to remove Philip's sweaty hand from his thigh, and only Wilfred's calm presence as his faithful knight and confidant serving him during the seemingly endless feast kept him from jumping to his feet and fleeing from the large hall.

Richard had just reached out to remove Philip's hand from his knee once more when a young man entering the hall caught his attention. He had chin-long red-blond hair and handsome features, possessing the most beautiful amber-green eyes Richard had ever seen. They sparkled like precious gems in the youthful face, the young man's skin still delicate and pale, shimmering creamy-white like ivory instead of being burnt from the sun. He was dressed in a dark-green jerkin over a thin yellow linen shirt and tightly fitting black pants. His soft leather boots were dark-green with yellow threads, and Richard couldn't avert his eyes from him, his innocent and melancholic aura contrasting almost painfully with the decadence and wickedness Philip and his lords displayed.

He must be a minstrel as he held a lyre in one hand, kneeling down and bowing deeply before his king when he reached the table where the two kings sat, waiting for Philip to acknowledge him with his head lowered down.

“He's a pleasing look to the eye, isn't he? I'm glad to know that I have at least one thing in my castle that will gain me your kind approval, my dearest Richard,” Philip whispered into his ear, shooting Richard a triumphant look before he turned his head to glance at the red-blond shock of shimmering hair, and Richard felt heat coloring his cheeks when he realized that Philip had started to fondle his thigh only inches apart from his groin without Richard even noticing it. He pushed the royal hand aside, angry with himself that he'd let himself be distracted and shown his fascination for the blond bard so openly.

Philip let out a chuckle that sounded more like the bark of one of his hounds, cocking his head in a flirting way when he addressed his minstrel at last.

“Ah, Blondel, I was already missing your sweet company. My dearest royal friend Richard has put himself to some bother and undertaken a straining journey under our hot French sun to honor me with his undoubtedly very striking presence in my humble castle. Knowing him and his interest in poetry, music and... hmm... courtly love... as well as I do, I want you to make his visit an outstanding and truly pleasura... pleasant experience. He's still missing his small island dearly as it would seem, but I am convinced that your heavenly... mout... voice will be able to ease the ache of his homesickness and distract him from his understandable... hmm... concern about the crusade. Please sit down before our table and sing for my dear friend, Blondel, as my cherished friend's well-being is _my_ most pressing concern.”

The young man slowly raised his head to look at the French monarch, his face giving nothing away of his thoughts as he bowed before his king for a second time. “As you wish, your majesty,” he said, and his voice was as beautiful as his whole appearance was. Blondel's eyes darted to Richard as he made himself comfortable on the straw-covered floor before the large wooden table, crossing his legs and taking his lyre, and the English king felt like drowning all of a sudden when he found the amber-green orbs directed at him.

Blondel now stroked over the strings of his lyre with his long and elegant fingers in a tender caress, still looking at Richard when his warm voice filled the large knight's hall, the song he'd chosen a song Richard knew so well because his mother loved it so much. It was a song about summer and winter, about love and duty, and Richard held his breath not to miss any single word and any single tune Blondel elicited his vocal chords and his lyre, his eyes drinking in the beautiful sight in front of him and roaming over the expressive features of the young bard.

There was a strange tingling in his stomach and in his chest, right where his heart was, something he'd never felt before this moment, and Richard realized with both astonishment and dismay that he had just fallen in love for the first time in his life, fallen in love with a young minstrel he didn't know anything about other than his name – a name that actually suited him perfectly because of the color of his hair and his eyes.

_Blondel._


	2. Whisper in the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard searches for some cool and quiet in one of Philip's gardens, but he isn't the only one who is searching for some peace of mind and time on his own...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dear Arrested,
> 
> I'm sorry it took me so long to write the next chapter of your story, I hope that it will give you a short break from real life. <33

Richard had waited until the castle had gone to sleep before slipping out of his room to seek coolness and quiet under the starry sky. The deep-blue darkness was like a velvet blanket, soft and beautiful, and Richard wished that he could touch it and feel its silken softness under his fingers.

Not the entire castle was sleeping, as Philip would never expose himself unguarded to his many enemies – whether they were secret enemies or well-known ones – but Richard was experienced enough to avoid running into the wardens and soldiers that were patrolling on the castle walls and in the yards.

The feast had lasted for hours and Richard felt slightly sick, the delicious meal the younger king had forced into him with sweet words and threatening glances lying like a heavy brick in his stomach. Taking a walk before retiring to his far too hot and sticky chamber would hopefully make him feel better, and Richard strolled aimlessly around for a few minutes, his trained eyes scanning the dark paths and corners for unbidden watchers and listeners. Learning the places by heart he might come back to as a conqueror one day was something Richard had perfected years ago, back then when he had still been a young prince. The failed riot against his father had taught him this lesson the hard way, and Richard burnt the map of Castle Chaumont that unfolded before his eyes as he walked in his memory, making sure that he would find his way back to the palas even with closed eyes later on.

The distant noises of rustling armors and swords as the guards paced up and down on the walls didn't disturb him, and he didn't spare the dark shadows of the moving guards a second glance, turning around the next corner without making any sound himself. The small path between the walls opened to a small but truly beautiful garden with several rose bushes and a stony bench in front of them. It was probably the private garden where Philip's wife liked to spend her time when she visited Castle Chaumont, a small beautiful shelter where she could sit on the bench and read her favorite poetry.

The bench was actually occupied by someone, even though it must already be past midnight, but it wasn't Philip's wife or even the French king himself sitting on the shimmering stone with his knees pulled to his chest. Richard's breath caught in his throat when he recognized the red-blond hair and the slim and lithe figure of Philip's minstrel, and he stopped in dark archway to regard Blondel undisturbed and unnoticed for a moment, fearing that the young man would leave if he noticed him.

His lyre lay beside him on the bench, but Blondel's gaze was directed inwardly, his eyes staring unseeing at the large rosebush in front of him. The sweet scent of the roses filled the warm night air, covering the smell of unwashed bodies, waste and excrements that lingered almost everywhere in the castle and the whole country, especially during the hot days when the sun was burning down on men and livestock like that.

Richard thought that Blondel was like a beautiful rose himself, a delicate flower among the weed of Philip's court and the French king himself, and he stepped forward before he could stop himself, longing for something he didn't dare admitting to himself. Blondel belonged to Philip, he could never be his, and Richard couldn't allow himself to dwell in foolish daydreams that would never come true.

The blond minstrel slowly turned his head when Richard stood before the bench, and he didn't look surprised as he gazed up at Richard's tall figure. The English monarch realized with astonishment that Blondel must have sensed his presence beforehand, and this even though he was pretty sure that he had approached him silently and without drawing attention to himself.

They looked each other in the eyes without speaking for a long time before Blondel made an attempt to stand up and bow before the royal guest of his own king. “You were obviously seeking privacy and quiet, I will leave you alone, sire,” he said, and his voice was as beautiful as Richard remembered it.

Richard raised his hand, not wanting Blondel to go away. “No, please stay, Blondel. You're right, I was searching for a place where I would find some cool and peace, but you apparently came here for the same reason, and I don't want you to leave just because of me. You are not the one I sought shelter from.”

A soft understanding smile ghosted over Blondel's handsome features, and he beckoned Richard to sit down beside him with a small gesture. “Cool you will find here, sire. This garden is one of the coolest places in Castle Chaumont at night. I'm not sure about the peace though, because this is a matter of heart and mind much more than it is bound to a special place, but I will do my best not to add to the heavy burdens you're already carrying, your majesty.”

Richard sat down beside him, taking in the sight of Blondel's face illuminated by the silvery light of the stars and the partly visible moon. “Don't call me that when we're alone, Blondel. Richard is my name.”

Blondel's features closed up, and he shifted his weight to move away from the English king. Richard realized with dismay that the young man had taken his words the wrong way, and he unconsciously balled his hands when he thought about what this most likely meant. Philip always took what he wanted to have without wasting a second thought at the price others might have to pay to fulfill his wishes, Richard of all people must know that. He searched for Blondel's eyes, and after a few seconds of hesitation the younger man returned his gaze, but he looked wary and mistrustful, the smile vanished from his face.

“You said that you don't want to add to the burden I'm already carrying. Forgetting my royal duties for a few precious minutes is a small mercy I cannot value highly enough. Would you do me the favor and just talk to the man Richard while we're sitting here, Blondel? That's all I'm asking from you. I'm aware that you must have heard a lot about me, and I'm guilty of a lot of things, but forcing myself upon unwilling partners is not one of them.” Richard returned Blondel's appraising glance openly, he had nothing to hide from the beautiful young man, and he wouldn't approach him in any way Blondel didn't want him to.

The blond minstrel regarded him with slightly narrowed eyes, but he relaxed and nodded at last, his features softening a bit. “As you wish, Richard.”

Richard smiled at him. “You weren't surprised when I approached you. Please tell me what it was that was giving me away. You weren't surprised about my presence.”

Blondel's lips twitched a little bit, and his amber-golden eyes sparkled. “You didn't make any sound or betrayed your approach in any other way. You're a knight and a soldier, I don't think that my sire's wardens would notice you before your blade slit their throats. But I'm not a soldier, I'm a minstrel, and my senses are well-trained in a different kind of way. It was your scent, Richard. It is so different from the heavy smells the other men emanate. They think that taking a bath will make them sick, and their reek gives them away long before they come into sight. Your scent is fresh and welcome, it's as light and soft as the fragrance of these roses.” One of the corners of his sensitive mouth curled into a lopsided smile when he caught Richard's indignant glance. “Only much more male of course, Richard. Nobody would mistake you for a delicate maid.”

Richard couldn't remember the last time he had blushed, but now he did, and he was grateful that the darkness of the night hid most of his changed face color. “I see. I'm glad to hear that my scent doesn't offend your nose, Blondel. I will keep your words in mind though. They might help me when I'm fulfilling my duties as a faithful crusader in the Holy Land. The nose of a Saracen might be as sensitive as yours is, my friend.”

“It would be wise to think so, Richard. Most soldiers I've come to know only use their sense of hearing and their eyesight to detect their enemies. The opinion of a bard is not of any value to them, but I hear a lot of stories about a lot of things when I'm sitting on the straw before my king's feet, and the stories I heard about the Saracens make me believe that they know quite well how to take advantage of soldiers not using all of their senses.”

“Your opinion is of great value to me, Blondel, don't you doubt that.” Richard murmured as quietly as Blondel was talking to him, the young man's smooth voice barely more than the whisper of the cool night breeze grazing his flushed cheeks. He did not want to risk that someone would hear their voices and come to the secret rose garden. The darkness of the night carried voices much better than the bright daylight did, and these few moments Richard could spend alone with Blondel were too precious to risk getting caught. Philip would make Blondel suffer for having stolen the one he wanted for himself, and he would find a way to do that without Richard being able to stop him.

“My sire would call you foolish for paying attention to anything I say, Richard. He only likes my voice when I'm singing about courtly love. I'm a simple bard, and he doesn't want to hear my voice when I'm not singing.”

“You're not just a simple bard to me, Blondel, you're like a rose among weed and like a ray of the golden sun in the darkness. Listening to your voice when you're singing about courtly love is balm for my strained ears and my restless heart, Blondel, but listening to your voice when you honor me with giving me an insight in your thoughts makes it sound even more beautiful. Your voice is like the soft whisper of a gentle spring rain that makes the flowers bloom and the grass grow, it is tender like the cool silver moonlight that doesn't burn the land but caresses it after a long and exhausting hot summer day. Your voice is like milk and honey that runs through a dry and sore throat, nourishing me and granting me the forgetting of a deep slumber I crave when I'm lying awake at every night.”

Blondel tilted his head to the side, regarding him thoughtfully for a while. “So the Lionheart is not only one of the bravest warrior that has ever walked this Earth, but also a real poet. You have many skills, sire, and your words cut right through the heart just like your sword does. I'm nothing more than just a simple bard, no matter what you wish to see in me, and I'm not worthy that you even look at me with your royal eyes, sire. I should go now, nothing good will come out of it if you spend more time in my offending company, your majesty.”

Blondel rose to his feet before Richard could reach out for him, and he melted with the darkness in the archway before Richard could stop him, the soft breeze his hasty flight caused to blow the only evidence that Richard hadn't dreamed their encounter here in the rose garden. The English sovereign stared at the dark spot where Blondel had disappeared, and if he strained his ears, then he could still hear the soft whisper of his beautiful voice, soft like the spring rain in England and the silvery moonlight that was Richard's only companion now that Blondel was gone.


	3. Two Kings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard comes back to his chambers after his talk with Blondel in the garden, and it shouldn't surprise him that Philip is already waiting for him in his bedroom...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dear Arrested,
> 
> I really wanted to write the next chapter for you, and I had some time today to do that. No Blondel in this chapter, and I had much more fun writing Richard's talk with Philip than I probably should have had. I hope that you will enjoy reading their royal banter at least a little bit. <33

Richard made his way back to his chambers long after Blondel had left him alone in the secret rose garden, lost in his thoughts and being in a strange, almost melancholy mood. He didn't pay much attention to the guards still patrolling on the walls this time, or to the few dark figures scurrying in front of him as he entered the castle again, as they were probably just some poor servants that were still busied with fulfilling their lords' every wish. The English sovereign didn't really believe that Philip would send an assassin to kill him here in Castle Chaumont, at least not as long as Richard was alive and healthy of more value to him than his dead body would be.

Apart from that, Philip was too clever to do such a stupid thing and risk the wrath of the German emperor and the pope by killing the only monarch who was really eager to free the Holy Land as long as he was Richard's host. The English sovereign was Philip's most important acolyte, and Richard was too powerful that Philip could kill him without having to face serious consequences, and Richard had also gotten the impression that the younger king was more interested in luring him into his bed than killing him when he'd arrived in Castle Chaumont earlier this day.

The corridor was dark and quiet when he strode back to his chambers, illuminated only by two single torches attached to the wall. Richard closed the heavy wooden door behind himself with a relieved sigh, rubbing his forehead in the vain attempt to ease the throbbing ache behind his temples.

“Shall I call for my personal physician, my dear Richard? His potions are bitter to swallow, but they might help against your headache.”

Richard couldn't hide his flinch at the sound of Philip's oleaginous voice, and he chided himself for not having paid better attention when he had entered his guest quarters. He really should have known that the late hour wouldn't keep Philip from awaiting him here, but his mind had still been occupied with the beautiful young man with the smooth voice who reminded Richard painfully of a small bird sitting in a golden cage to entertain its human captor with its songs.

This special shimmering and sparkling bird Blondel was didn't have any chance to escape from the golden cage Philip kept the only key to hidden in his royal hand, and his beautiful and melancholy serenades wouldn't melt Philip's stony heart and buy Blondel the freedom he craved. One day, Blondel would have lost his sparks and his wonderful glow, the nightingale having lost its beautiful voice and songs forever to remain silent until death would release it from its misery.

Richard felt a lump in his throat at the thought of Blondel slowly wasting away in Philip's custody – as the blond minstrel was just another hostage, unfree and not allowed to spread his wings and fly up high in the sky like birds were meant to do. But it wasn't wise to let himself be distracted by his feelings for the young minstrel as long as Philip was watching his every move, and Richard leaned against the closed door with carefully measured movements, turning his head to return the Frenchman's sly glance.

Philip had made himself comfortable in one of the two armchairs standing before the wall opposite to the large canopy bed, and Richard was actually amazed that the younger king had had the decency not to wait for him lying naked in his bed already. Philip's posture was provoking and what he most likely considered to be inviting and alluring though, but all Richard felt was disgust and exhaustion at the sight of Philip' lascivious pose. The French king gazed at him from under his thick lashes, and Richard had to admit that most people would call Philip a beautiful man. But they didn't see the cruelty and the turpitude in his eyes, the lies and maliciousness Richard had come to know better than he'd ever thought possible when he had still wanted to believe that Philip was capable of true love and faith.

He had learned his lesson the hard way, and he would never allow Philip to toy with his feelings again. They stared at each other silently for a moment, and it was Philip who averted his eyes to let them travel over Richard's figure finally. It was only a small victory, but it helped Richard to regain his composure and put the stern mask back on his face at least.

“The potions your charlatan brews can't taste any bitterer than your presence in my chambers does, Philip,” Richard said when he'd recovered from his initial surprise. He stalked over to the table under the small barred window to wash his hands in the water bowl and splash some of the lukewarm water on his face and on his neck. It gave him the opportunity to turn his back on Philip, and he buried his face in the scratchy linen for a moment when he took the towel from the table to dry himself again.

“My presence in your bedchamber was once most welcome, my dear royal brother,” Philip fluted, lifting his chin up in defiance when Richard slowly turned his head to regard him with narrowed eyes. “So you came here to offer me the comfort of kind words and brotherly advice instead of the services of your body, Philip?” he asked, “I must admit that you are still able to surprise me now and then. The late hour of your visit and your behavior during the feast had convinced me that you had something else in mind than offering me to defeat you in a game of chess when you sneaked into my bedroom like a thief in the night.”

Philip did him the courtesy to blush at his unconcealed words, but he hid his anger well, fluttering his eyelashes with a strained smile in the attempt to charm his unwilling guest. “What makes you think that I tried to hide myself or my intention to visit you when I came here? You are my most cherished and valued guest, Richard, of course I had to see for myself that you are enjoying my gracious hospitality. Which brings me back to my question from earlier. Are you sure that you don't want me to call for my doctor? It pains me to see you in such a poor state, my dearest royal broth.... ehm - friend.”

“So, I'm your friend now and not your brother any longer?” Richard stated ironically. “I'm relieved to hear that even you seem to have your boundaries, Philip. Lying with my 'brother' would never really cross my mind. And no, I don't wish to see your quacksalver. His potions would only worsen my headache and make me get sick too above all things.” His tone made clear what Richard was hinting at with his words, and Philip theatrically pressed his hand against his heart.

“I'm inconsolable that you are really accusing me that I could merely think of wanting to poison you, Richard! Your welfare is my only concern! How can you even think that I requested your dearly-missed company when I invited you to visit me because I wanted to harm you in any way!” Philip elegantly rose from his chair to cross the room and stop before Richard. “Please let me at least massage your temples, I remember that you always liked it when I did that for you – back then when we were young princes.”

“I'm not the foolish prince I once was any longer, Philip.” Richard pushed Philip's hand aside, the memories floating his mind filling him with shame and self-loathing. It was true that he had once craved Philip's touch more than he'd craved anything else, but these times were long gone and would never come back.

Annoyance was flashing in Philip's eyes at the rejection, and he pursed his lips to a pout. “But you're still too straight forward – just like you were as the foolish young prince that revolted against his father – to no avail and much to your shame as I want to point out! I'd really thought that you had finally learned the game and the merits of diplomacy, Richard. You won't get what you want if you keep pushing me away and insulting me in my own castle,” the French king said, dropping the mask of politeness and concern at last.

Richard kept his own expression impassive as he stared back at the younger king, but Philip didn't miss how his jaw tightened in the attempt to hide his feelings from his suzerain. “And what would that be, Philip? You have nothing to offer I could be interested in.”

Philip's lips curled into a sweet smile, but to Richard it looked more like the smug grin it actually was, and the look in Philip's cold eyes let a cold shiver run down on his spine.

“Is that so? You've never been a good liar, Richard, at least not to me. I can still read you better than most people can do. You know what I'm talking about – who I am talking about. I've seen the look on your face tonight. You want him. I could be inclined to share him with you – if you're willing to give me what I want, my royal vassal.”

Richard swallowed, remaining still when Philip reached out to let his fingertips travel over his face.

“He's just a simple bard, he doesn't mean anything to me,” he said, but his voice sounded too hoarse and Philip still knew him too well to buy this obvious lie. “Oh, really?” the younger king smiled. “Then you certainly won't care that I have to punish him for neglecting his duties. Blondel wasn't in his room when I sent for him – and no one could tell me where he was. It is due that I remind him of his place – as much as it hurts me to say that. It would be such a shame to damage his beauty, wouldn't it?”

Richard gritted his teeth, and Philip's smile deepened. He stroked over Richard's lips with the tip of his thumb, shaking his head with a raised eyebrow when his English vassal instinctively shied away from his touch.

“You don't want to annoy me, my dear Richard, do you? Blondel's well-being lies in your strong royal hand, and nothing good will come out of it if you keep rejecting me. Knowing how much you care about him I will make him pay for any disobedience coming from your side, don't you doubt that, my cherished friend and vassal. By the way, you don't happen to know where Blondel could have hidden himself when I sent my servants to search for him? It was right before I came here...”

“No, I don't.” That wasn't a lie, as Richard had remained in the garden for at least half an hour after Blondel had fled him, and he didn't know where the young bard had run to bring enough distance between himself and the royal guest of his own king. Richard returned Philip's appraising glance with a hard stare of his own, and after a few minutes, Philip sighed and slowly pulled his hand back. “That at least appears to be the truth for once,” he said, pursing his lips in disappointment.

Richard took a deep breath, but he didn't step back. “It is the truth. I don't know where Blondel is. I was merely taking a walk because of the heat, but I didn't meet any of your servants or guards on my way, and Blondel's golden hair is hard to miss even in the darkness. The night didn't bring me the cooling I'd hoped for though, so I decided to turn around and go back to my chambers – where I found you sitting in my chair, Philip. It is late and I'm tired, so please tell me what you want from me that I can get a few hours of peace and quiet afterwards.”

Philip seemed to sense that Richard was too tired to be an enjoyable companion for the night, and he didn't try to touch him again, only shrugged his shoulders with a disappointed but resigned noise.

“There are a lot of things I want from you, Richard, but for now I will content myself with another proof of your unwavering loyalty. I'm sure that you crave your peace and quiet enough to happily bend your knee before me again. I would love to hear you repeat your oath of allegiance for me once more - here in your bedroom - when nobody else is there to disturb us. Seeing you on your knees and feeling your kiss on my right is not what I'd hoped to get when I came here, but it will surely be worth the long wait and give me some pleasant dreams, Richard.”

“Yes, seeing me humiliated has always been the quickest way for you to get off, hasn't it?” Richard said impassively, going down on his knee and bending his head before the younger king. He was too tired to argue with Philip, and he knew better than to deny the Frenchman his first victory on that long day. Blondel would have to pay if he annoyed Philip further, and his temporary humiliation was a small price Richard was more than willing to pay for Blondel's safety and well-being.

“You will leave him alone if I swear my oath and kiss your hand, Philip?” Richard asked, peering up at the other one, and Philip solemnly nodded his head. “You have my word on that, my dear Richard. Betraying you by breaking my word and punishing him would actually be a pleasure, but not as much as defeating you with your own weapons and watching you being at my bidding will be. Blondel will be safe from my royal wrath as long as you'll do what I want.”

Philip smiled down at him, reaching out with his hand and waiting for Richard to take it. Richard swallowed as he bent his royal head over the back of Philip's right, holding it with his fingertips to blow a kiss over the sweaty skin.

“I want a real kiss, Richard. Give me something to get off to when I'm lying alone in my bed tonight,” Philip snarled, losing his patience eventually, and Richard closed his eyes and pressed his lips onto the damp pale flesh of Philip's hand, willing the shudder of disgust not to wreck him as he kissed Philip's right.

“Ah, much better, my dear. You're still able to get me hard, Richard.”

Richard decided that he'd better not comment on that statement, and he swallowed his disgust and cleared his throat to give Philip what he wanted, saying the words the French king wanted to hear from him.

“I hope that you're satisfied now, sire,” he said when he had renewed his oath, causing Philip to chuckle. “Not yet, my faithful vassal, but I'm certain that the memory of how you looked on your knees will be very satisfying later when I order Blondel to kneel before me as well, Richard!”

Philip whirled around his axis to stalk to the door before Richard could react, and his laughter was still echoing in Richard's bedroom when the French king was long gone.


End file.
